Let's Never Go Back To Russia or Always Mine
by The Cold East Wind
Summary: Someone wants to buy Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft sends John to break a human trafficking ring hoping to expose the buyer. Problem. Neither John nor Sherlock know the whole story. Perhaps Mycroft should have given them all the information. Then maybe things wouldn't have gone so horribly wrong.


"Go get him now Mycroft!" Sherlock burst through the doors screaming.

"Sherlock you know that the British government dose not nego..."

"NOOOW!" He bellowed.

"Sherlock he's only one man." Mycroft's casual dismissal broke him.

"He's only one…what?! John is not only anything!" Sherlocks brain simply could not process a statement like that being made about John Watson. He took Johns L9A1 from his pocket pulled back the bolt, and put it to his head. Mycroft stood cautiously.

"I believe you understand what comes next."

"You wouldn't."

"Without John what else is there?"

"Sherlock, John knew the mission he knew the dangers..."

"Don't you breath another words to me unless that word is yes, followed by I'll go get him!" He tried to hold back the tears, but didn't have the strength. "Please Mycroft." Mycroft paused, as what was happening here dawned on him. His brother the self proclaimed high functioning scocipath (not clinically diagnosed, mind you) was having a meltdown over the man he loved even if didn't know it himself. Faced with this new understanding, Mycroft saw no choice.

"Extraction team Methos, is in the region and can be on site within the hour."

"Splendid. Now get me on a flight..."

"No."

"Mycroft I understand your constant objection to my every request is obligatory, but I need to get to John. And nothing you say is going to sway me. So if your not going to lock me away some where, then please, make the arrangements."

"Please twice in one day." Mycroft's tone was falsely sweet.

"Don't."

"I won't. I fear it's already too late."

"It is."

Mycroft gave him a look that was somewhere between shock and acceptance.

"It's Red Beard, all over again then is it?"

"If only it where that simple."

"I did warn you, not to get involved brother mine."

"And when have I ever listened to you? You'd have been more effective in telling me to fall hopelessly and irrevocably in love. Then perhaps we wouldn't both be standing here dealing with the fallout. And yes Mycroft, if you need farther clarification, I just admitted to being in love with John. So, with that said, can you get me to him please?" With an admission like that hanging in the air Mycroft's hands where tied yet again.

"There's an Avro RJX, at Alconbury, at the ready."

"I thought you said this man would be able to break the Stasevich trafficking ring on his own."

"He will."

"Then why did you send Methos, in?"

"My little brother, of course."

"Do we still not know who wants to own your brother?"

"Not directly, but I'm working on it. Once Dr. Watson dose his part the immediate the danger should be over."

"And if it's not?"

"Then we tell John Watson that someone is trying to buy Sherlock Holmes."

"And why not tell him now?"

"Because I'm not ready to deal with the international incident when he burns Russia, to the ground."

John had gotten to Russia, and had immediately fallen into a veritable shit storm. He had quickly managed to get himself good and well captured. Which was the plan. He had also managed to get himself free. Which had been expected. So when extraction team Methos, arrived to find a killing field with John in the middle he was a little bewildered as to their purpose.

"Mycroft, sent us." The team leader and old buddy from Afghanistan, Nicolas Pegg told him.

"Well this is a turn up Nick, as Mycroft sent me too. I think his exact words where "Why send a team of men when you can send a one man team" or something to that effect who can remember these things."

"Hell Watson, to tell the truth, had I known it was you we wouldn't have even made the trip."

"Well ta all the same fellas. Let's get the fuck outta here and I'll buy you all a pint for your troubles."

"Good man Watson."

Sherlock bounded from the plane, Belstaff flipped by the frigid wind and had to fight down an actual shiver. He wasn't one for vulgarity but shit Russia, was cold! He slipped into the back of the awaiting black sedan and was greeted by the driver. "I Have instructions from your brother to take you directly to The Four Seasons sir." Sherlock simply nodded and pulled out his mobile.

I take it John is at the hotel?

SH-

Correct. And before you ask its to keep up the appearance of John being on holiday and not on a case. The people he's dealing with are rather dangerous.

MH-

Would you believe that all of that had occurred to me already?

SH-

My apologies brother dear. I thought perhaps sentiment had dulled your powers of deduction.

MH-

Piss off.

SH-

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes. Hello Mr. Holmes, we've been expecting you." The concierge handed over his room key as he spoke. Sherlock boarded the lift and felt a trill of electricity in his chest that he couldn't quite place. He was relieved that John was safe and obviously well, but this was more than that. This was a neverous anticipation that he didn't understand. It was just John after all. Just John. Sherlock found himself turning that phrase over in his mind. Just John was an Army doctor, a surgeon, a Jumper enthusiasts, an expert marksman, and the man he loved. Oh shit. The lift came to a stop at the same time as his breath. He walked to room 207 and put the key in the lock swiftly as the electric panic in his chest seemed to fuel him, he opened and closed the door in one motion turning his back to the room as he entered and resting his head on the closed door, there was no sound other then the soft movement he knew to be John some where off behind him. He turned. Dear God Above. Tight black underwear looked like they had been painted on, leaving nothing to the imagination. Sherlock let his gaze travel, strong legs, scared chest, shot gray blond hair stood on end wet. The world shifted. Sherlock felt...hungry. It where as if the words he had spoken to Mycroft, 3,624 miles away had reached John. They move toward each other as if pulled when their eyes met. Sherlock's Belstaff was discarded on the floor before he even knew what was happening. They crashed into each other. The kiss was a lifetime in the making. All that had passed between them, the pain and fear, the doubt and anger, the frustration and finally the joy. The sheer joy of love. Sherlock's lips parted to meet Johns in a rush. All senses over come by the force of John. Hands fisted into silk curls as John pulled him down and kissed him, pressing his naked chest against Sherlock's shirt front so close it left bottom marks on his skin. Sherlock didn't know what to do with his hands, first on Johns waist, then up his back to feel his shoulder blades and muscles move in rhythm with their kiss. Sherlock couldn't hold back the sound that rose in him as John moved his lips over the beautiful untouched plans and hollows of his throat. John pulled Sherlock's shirt tail out and ran his hands up his rib cage, Sherlock's head tilted back, pushing his body into Johns kisses.

"What are we doing?" The question was barely above a whisper. The answer was delivered as hot steam against his skin.

"What we should have done the day we met."

"But your not.."

"No. I'm not. But how could you not see what I am?" John couldn't be bothered to stop his travels as he spoke and worked the collar lose on Sherlock's ridiculously expensive Brunello Cucinnelli shirt.

"I was afraid to hope and be wrong."

"You beautiful beautiful idiot. I love you." Silent tears mangled with their kiss, John pulled back.

"No, no. What's wrong what did I do?"

Sherlock smiled softly.

"Perfect John. Nothing. I've just...loved you so much for so long. I feel like a fool."

"Sherlock, don't. I adore you and you never have to cry."

"I'm no good at this."

"You where made for this. For me."

"Show me."

"Oooh with so so much pleasure." They moved to the bed, holding hands, John sat on the edge and watched Sherlock remove the remainder of his clothing. John was sure that Sherlock wasn't trying to put on a show, but the mans natural movements where so elegant that by the time he stood naked John could hardly breath.

"Let me touch you." Sherlock stepped into the circle of Johns open arms, bringing the head of his now very erect cock just level with Johns lips. John rubbed his ruff cheek on the satin hot skin and felt Sherlock, quiver in his arms. He buried his nose in a nest of silk curls and inhaled his tongue lick a path over Sherlock's balls that made his slender body shiver, he grabbed Johns shoulders. Johns hands slid down from the small of his back where they had been resting to cup Sherlock's sweet little bottom, and took the head of his cock in his mouth with a deep longing. John could feel Sherlock's whole body start to shake, and his strong grip on Johns shoulders tighten ever time John sucked him deeper. He was close. But this was too soon. John needed to feel more of him, every nuance, every shutter. Forever. Slowly John came off Sherlock's cock and the man cried out.

"Jawn." He staggered backward a bit, John stood and caught him by the waist turning him toward the bed and pushing him down slipping out of his underwear John following on top of him. Their kisses where urgent and desperate, they couldn't get close enough, they couldn't touch enough as hands roamed over hard muscle, Sherlock wrapped his legs around Johns back and ached so that their cocks where hot and hard against their bellies. Johns face was nestled in the hollow of Sherlock's neck.

"My god your going to make me cum."

"Yes, yes, Jawn please. Oh god." Sherlock pleaded like music as he rocked his slim hips up to meet Johns downward grind. John ached his back and smoothly rubbed their cocks against each other feeling his body began to unravel, his breathing was ragged and shallow, but that was nothing compared to Sherlock who was lost in a world where Jawn and please where his breath. He dug his fingers into Johns back. John moved from bracing on either side of Sherlock's head to slip both arms under his shoulder blades and buried his hands in his curls digging into his scalp, Sherlock shivered and cried out spent. His hot release against Johns cock was more then he could bare. John practical screamed into the curve of Sherlock's neck as he was rendered breathless by pleasure. They lay there. No one cared about being clean or their limbs going numb. Sherlock ran his fingers through Johns hair kissing which ever parts of him he could reach. John just held him tighter and whispered several times over, "Always mine. Always mine."

Sherlock opened sleep laden eyes to a heavy languid warmth a high the likes of which he had never known spread throughout his limbs, the cause of it smiled down at him sweetly.

"Jawn, what are you doing?" He tried to sound indignant, but there was still too much sated happiness in his voice for it to be convincing.

"I've always wanted to watch you sleep. Your just as beautiful as I thought you'd be." John said from his propped up position.

"Don't flatter me."

"Why not? Your so pretty when you blush."

"I don't blush, and I'm not pretty"

"Your wrong, you do blush, have since the first cab ride together. But you are right, your not pretty. Your beautiful. Like noting I've ever seen." John saw the look of disbelief and and the sparkle of tears in the jewel like eyes, and leaned in to softly, slowly, kiss the man he loved more then life itself. John pulled away and studied his handy work, Sherlock was a little breathless but back to pure happiness with all traces of sadness or doubt gone. John was pleased.

"So, coffee? A bite to eat?" John got up and stared to make for the loo. Sherlock, never took his eyes off Johns bottom as he disappeared.

"Yes well I think coffee for a start and maybe some biscuits. Oh and fruit. And eggs sounds nice."

"Well at least now I know how to make you hungry. I'll go fetch us something and you stay here and look pretty." John dropped a kiss on Sherlock's cheek and just barely dodged the pillow that was thrown at his head. Sherlock smiled and watched him go. He snuggled back down under the duvet and let himself drift back to sleep.

John opened the door to their room and stopped dead. The room was a disaster. There had obviously been a fight and a struggle. If it wasn't clear from the state of the room then the blood on the bed and surrounding area told the whole story. John didn't call out to Sherlock, because he knew he wasn't there. Even though his clothes where still in the same spot from last night, his Belstaff was gone, and the trail of blood led to the door. John had been on enough cases with Sherlock to know what an abduction looked like. John stood there trying to calm down. He wasn't in panic mode. He was in kill mode. What the fuck had Mycroft gotten them into?


End file.
